


The Hunt

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bisexual, Cannibalism, F/F, F/M, Fiction, Gay, Heterosexual, Lesbian, M/M, Nonconsensual, Politics, Rape, Revenge, Royalty, Slavery, Vampires, Violent, romantic, slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27370045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A fantasy story set in ancient Africa with monsters and creatures. Story follows the lead hunter on a search for a missing princess. The story is told from the perspective of the hunter speaking with an inquisitor. This story is exactly like an African tale which means that it is warped and complex. Not an easy read.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fantasy story set in ancient Africa with monsters and creatures. Story follows the lead hunter on a search for a missing princess. The story is told from the perspective of the hunter speaking with an inquisitor. This story is exactly like an African tale which means that it is warped and complex. Not an easy read.

Chapter 1  
Posted: 8/21/2020, 6:28:17 PM  
Is it a story you wish, a story of valor, of courage, of heroes, of gods and demons; well forgive me, inquisitor, for I only have a story of death, sadness, and deceit. You seem to know a thing or two about asking, well you do have me tied to a bed - last time I was in this posture a woman was trying to cut my phallus. Oh, the good old days. Anyways, it is a story you desire, a story I shall give. But first, do you care to explain the smell of a lion’s buttocks from your crotch, is it a form of prayer? Oh fuck the gods inquisitor, every man has his needs, some like toddlers nibbling on their aroused cocks, others like beasts in the literal sense.

Don’t mistake my laughter for judgment as I have always been one to laugh. It has been a very long time since I last laughed. The very idea of mating with a wild fauna embezzles my senses, I admit I did get raped by a bird, but that was purely for my work. Hell, I even fucked an infant, let it be known inquisitor, I have committed every possible abomination. Yet, I am not a bad person. Back to the point here, it is a story you want, a story you will get. It starts off from a time ten and eight years ago. A little boy, whose name does not matter, is in a room with his drunk father. The father, who is so out of his wits sees his son as an elegant whore. Tell me inquisitor do you know the events that occur, for you must as I smell the perverse desires in the darkest corners of your blackened soul. The father moves on to touch his son, the son was used to the constant beatings of his drunk father. But this time he didn’t beat him, instead, he made his son undress, forcefully. Do you know what it feels like to be ravaged, inquisitor, do you know the feeling of your limited hubris slipping away in the hand of another, while you are hopeless. When a man pillages your soul, only for a few seconds of pleasure. The feeling of his cursed, and vile seed in your body, the sense that he owns you. The boy found out then. After his father destroyed his identity, the boy pledged never to have another. Now after this there are two versions of the story, one in which the boy runs away leaving his home. Another where the boy returns the favor to his father’s lifeless cadaver, before leaving the wretched place. The boy now free of all his bonds runs to the nearest brothel. Have you been to a brothel inquisitor, it is a house of pleasures, any and all kinds. Then again, the items you desire can be found in a common forest, why pay? Your lust for the immoral makes you attractive to me, not that I am a man lover, but I have felt a man’s touch before. The boy went to a brothel and proceeded to eviscerate his mother with his bare hands. Killing with your bare hands has a different meaning to it, it feels artistic, poetic even how sensually your hands decide another human’s fate. Always arouses me, try it, inquisitor, you will love it. That woman was the first kill I regretted.

The beauty of telling a story is how much control you have over it, you are the god. You love the god don’t you inquisitor, what with your beliefs and you’re intricately fucked culture. It isn’t wrong, oh not at all. It is not wrong to love, for that is not real. It is not wrong to fuck, which is the farthest thing from love. It is not wrong to believe, for belief gives us principles. However, it is wrong to fear, and what you have in your heart for the lord is fear. Do you want another story inquisitor? Did I not satisfy your hunger, your desire, your lust. Is it because I do not have fur. Oh, what people think of life. Life is futile, the very roots of basic existence lead to barren lifeless trees. The story I am going to tell you is not some fable, it may sound like one, but it isn’t. Inquisitor, what is it that makes people be what they are, is it religion? Is it love? No, Inquisitor, it is fear. The story I will reveal will explain why I lack fear. It will show that I fear only two things, one of which I shall reveal now. It was ten and three years ago when I was in Akumbakum. The city of beauty, as they called it, for what reason I don’t understand. In that time I was but a child, only two hundred and thirty-eight moons. In the dark streets of Akumbakum, I was alone and ready to die. I had lived a hopeless and repugnant life. The very idea of growing old was repulsive to my instincts and led me towards suicide. But, as they say, life finds a way. I found my life in the opulent palace of the town, where I was sold as a slave. My non-existent rights were stripped of me, like my clothes. I was drenched in foul milk and it was made sure I had not a single piece of hair on my body. I was, as they say, cleansed. It was then that my life found its path; the king of the palace was kidnapped and his wife was ready to blow any man that would find him. Inquisitor, I confess I started to look for him out of lust. As you might have heard, I “have a nose.” The woman gave me his sweat and cum ridden blanket. One whiff of it and I felt the small lock of nose hair burn. His blanket had two scents, one of his sweat ridden boar-like body, and another of his wife’s delicate body. Do you know, inquisitor, the meaning of a double-edged sword? It is what my gift was, a double-edged sword. Sometimes, even now, when I am in a place with a lot of identified smells, my mind goes berserk and the colours I see are inverted; my judgment is as good as gone, my body feels the high of a himalayan herb. At that moment my adrenaline seemed to flow more than my blood.

“I know where your husband is. Only I can get him out, he is not safe. The longer I take, the longer I wait for the closer the angel of death gets to him.” I said at once.

“I will do anything for my husband, bring him from the depths of inferno.” With that, the queen owed me and I had my first job. Inquisitor, I don’t mean to stroke my own cock, but I am capable of smelling things across the sacred lands of Nigiki even. I had tracked the husband to an inn not more than two lands away. I have to say the king often was confused with an Ogo. Do you know what an Ogo is, Inquisitor? It is not a giant, for a giant has an empty head, giants go around fucking horses just because they’re long hair seems like womenfolk, if they kick they consider it a good sport. No, Ogo’s are a different breed, they are abominations. They are experiments of the evil white scientists gone completely wrong. The women who were cursed with the foul seed by the white scientists are all dead with a man-shaped hole where their womanhood should have been. Ogo’s aren’t bad, Inquisitor, but then again what is life if not mistaken. Anyways, the king was at a whorehouse raping a little boy. The boy seemed more dead than a corpse, his face was that of a helpless father that found out his infant daughter’s innocence was violated. His eyes were lifeless, his arms ripping from his shoulder because of the king pulling. All the while the only sound heard were the king’s satisfied moans. I was a young child, I didn’t know what to do. I pulled out my knife, and with all my strength, I dug it deep into the king’s hairy back. He stopped humping and looked back. “You filthy, lowly, nasty faggot. How dare you touch my royal body.” he roared and spat in my face.

“I do not care about your royal blood, for it comes with centuries of crime and incest. For all you know you are an abomination and a product of siblings.”

“Keep your words to yourself, you fungus of the cunt”

He took the knife out in one motion with barely a moan. He then grabbed my throat and squeezed it the way a dominatrix would squeeze a man’s testicles. My throat aches to this day, if the pain wasn’t so arousing I would actually cry. I held my breath and proceeded to kick his groin with all my strength, all I accomplished was to please the man. From behind him, there came a sword stuck cleanly down the king’s throat. The cut was so clean, my trousers got stiff. Yet, his hands on my neck wouldn’t budge. The same mysterious hands slit the kings with so much perfection, I felt orgasmic. As I fell upon the floor, I laid my first eye on the beautiful creature in front of me. A man about six and three satchels tall. His eyes an aquis blue. Where a fat man would have a paunch he had muscles thick as stone. Legs with the girth of a bull, a chest so perfectly defined as though the gods carved it upon him. The movement of his brawny arms was so graceful, it brightened a blind man’s vision. And that was the man that made me lose the last bit of faith I had in humanity.

Inquisitor, do you have hope? Do you believe in other things this world offers? A wise half-man once told me that nobody loves nothing. That can’t be true, nobody loves children more than our local fetish priest. Nobody loves food more than the corpulent. Is this love or is it raw desire, lust, an itch that cannot be satiated. The third story I shall tell you is of the man that taught me this, my teacher, I called him Simba, others called him Takha, the god of vengeance. This story takes place the day right after I left my identity. I was lost and excited, even as a child, the killing had me desiring for more. I had to cross the dark forest to reach the city of opportunities, Mweru. Do you know of the dark forest, Inquisitor? The dark forest is the womb of trickery, of lies, and of deceit. It is said that the dark forest is the only land close to as dangerous as the land of the Umhlaba Wamaphupho. In the dark forest, there are specters, there are spirits with intentions worse than that of a rapist, and worst of all there are tricksters. The common trickster can cause you to hand over your children as harlots and your wife as a cook. I have traveled there only two times, and both times I’ve wished for the goddess of death to come to take me. In the dark forest, a man could swear that time goes months faster; the time it takes to cross over is usually a month if you are alive. It is fabled that the dark forest once swallowed a whole army, and instead of death, they were transformed into women. The creatures that did so did it so smoothly that no one would believe they were soldiers. The soldiers did not die once but died every minute for the next few years trying to convince the others. These are the ways of the forest. The forest swallows in whole and returns meatless chunks, that do not fit in the shit-like system, created by anus sniffing, child cunt eating politicians. I knew all this before my first trip, yet I plunged in. The dark forest had a curvaceous landscape, the dollops of dew on the succulent grass gave the place a seductive appeal. In the entrance, there was a horde of trees that seemed to be ingrained in the soil. The awe producing structure in my vision gave birth to the thought that all the tales about the forest were just that, hearsay. But I was blatantly ignorant, the foolishness of my fecal thought cannot be forgiven, as it has got me in many situations where my head was in line. This was one of them. Grandeur aside, the forest seemed like any other in the lands. It did, however, have an effect on it. The effect a crying infant has on its mother, the effect a dying man has on his well-wishers, the effect a rapist has on its victim. It is one and the same. As I entered the forest, I noticed a strange increase in the number of times my heart throbbed in my chest; the involuntary perspiring of my palms and the apparent butterflies in my stomach. I understood why they called it the dark forest, literally, because the gigantic trees stopped sunlight from penetrating. In the forest, there was nothing but dense woods in view. It was colorful, yet bland. It was pungent, yet dull. It was comforting, yet distressing. I walked on close to a thousand paces without a single soul bothering me. Then came the anomalously big oak tree. Its branches were as thick as a well-fed elephant’s trunk. Its roots were dense enough to pass off as little trees. The trunk of the tree was as tall as a raft. On the highest branch, I could hear a sound, so abominous, I still remember to this day. It was the sound you get when a human is getting something grand stuck up his anus, forcefully. The cry was so loud, a man in Kalingor could hear it. It was followed by a blood-curdling laugh, “Heh, thoo, you’re manhood seems to have left you, faggot. I have never had a man that cries like a lady before. Ummm. You make my blood boil you man-lover, I’m in so much euphoria I smell more food.”

When he said that, my heart dropped in my stomach. I couldn’t move. It made a sniffing sound and turned around. “Oh look what we have here, a sambo here to die.” I later found out that he was something called a Ramanga. His face was a crimson hue and the tremendously muscular, and red shoulder made me wet my pants. He turned his body completely to reveal wings that were so humongous, they could quilt three full males. His massive black teeth, with chunks of human flesh in between, gave out a reek that I will never forget. The Ramanga flew down and stuck its claws in my rib. “ I will have fun with you, boy. You will satisfy my thirst for young blood.”

I tried to protest, but every move I did only made his smile wider. He picked me up and jumped up to the tree in one motion. His breath stank of everything rotten and evil. I shit myself out of fear, smelling that, Ramanga got excited. “Oh the kak you leave only makes you seem more scared, ergo more attractive.”

I felt the branch almost break my back as it threw me down. He came in front of my eyes, and said “I smell your boyhood, you are but a child. I will have you begging for death, boy.”

I was too scared to talk, I couldn’t say anything or do anything, I was petrified. It reached it’s dirty claws near my eyes. It caressed my eyebrows, with such caution, such softness. If it wasn’t a killer I would have been hard. But I couldn’t stop shaking, and the creature felt my fear. It thrived on fear, on the humans’ body perspiring, heart throbbing, and the knots in the stomach tightening. Ramanga touched my chest, and caressed it, by this time I was almost unconscious. “No you will feel every bit of this, they say my brother is the one that gets exotic meat. But I know the kids taste the best, I know that the feeling of gently eating a little boy’s heart while he cries his heart out is unmatchable. I’m scared that if I eat you whole I will invoke wrath from my brother Krav Maga.” I could hear but I couldn’t understand. I still remembered my old name, and I hated it. I felt more pain in the feeling of regret I had for slowly and painfully killing my mother. She cried more when I slapped her then she did while I hacked her with my father’s sword. Her body was odorous of other mens’ seed. I felt disgusted looking at her face, I felt revolted by her lowly presence. At once I pulled my sword and hacked her right in the head. I pulled it out with all my strength, and I eviscerated her with it. I didn’t stop then, I kept slashing. I felt euphoric, I felt good. But now I wanted to die out of sheer guilt. The creature was pushing my death farther and farther away. He was glutting on my thoughts, my fear was his ecstasy. He landed on top of me, his phlegm leaking on my tear-dried eyes. My body was not functional enough to let me vomit. He got something out under a bush of hair near his abdomen, it was larger than a muscular man’s arm. “I will have more fun than ever with you boy. I will ravage you and eat you at the same time.”

He tore my loincloth and stroked my limp cock and played around with the tip. He then put his claw up my anus in one motion. I cried, my hubris destroyed, my life done. I couldn’t feel anything but the mind bending pain in my heart. “Umm, your holes get me hard boy. I would sweeten your mouth, but I’m scared you will bite. I like it but my seed will release early, once I lose seed I shall eat you. We don’t want that.”

He was about to put his atrocious cock in me when an arrow flew right through his eye and landed a fly over my head. In no time another arrow flew and hit Ramanga in the center of his chest, his mouth bubbled up with blood and mucus. He released everything in his mouth upon my face, I felt joyous. My hands were moving, I took my bare hand thrust it in his heart. My hands felt his beating heart, he was scared I laughed. “You are a piece of shit from a bleeding anus. Your heart was mine to take, your body is mine to cut you shit weasel. You fucking abomination, god made a mistake creating you.”

I pulled his heart out and ate it raw. I kicked his face until it burst like a pumpkin. Then I felt him behind me. I looked back and saw a black lion, not a leopard, a lion. It was massive, it’s red eyes looked me straight in the eyes. It’s paws mimicked my legs. I jumped, but the lion caught me. For it was not a lion, but a man. A man that looked as large as a small tree. He stood towering me on the branch with his massive forearm pulling me as though I was a child.

His body reeked of raw meat from his recent kills, it was an odor that would usually detest me. But I knew he was mine, I knew I was safe, I knew he was mine. I loved him. Yet another kill I regret.


	2. Chapter 2

Inquisitor, I am relieved that you know my story. I think you are ready. I think you are ready for my actual story now. It starts with a little girl. I know that children are pure, I know they are innocent. Yet, I want to kill the child ruthlessly. I want to bathe in it’s monthly blood, I want to eat it’s bloody body filled with maggots. The child has caused more harm than the breath disease. It is not a human. And thankfully, the child is dead. I love the scent of it’s ugly corpse.

How has the child harmed me you ask. Inquisitor, how effective are the scars that are visible to a naked eye? It has harmed on many levels. It is pure evil. I wish the little girl would be brutally raped by every man in the land. I wish her dead body would be ravaged by the old fetish priests. The child had to die, it wasn’t her fault yet she must die. She was born of cursed seed, yet her family was reputable. I hated the child, I still do.

I have only met her once and she ended everything of mine that one time. I would say her body must be ended with a flaming sword so as to not give her soul peace. Her only mistake was being born, she should have died in her mother’s wretched womb. I know I scare you inquisitor. I know you have heard of my eating habits. Yet you need me. The royal cunt of a queen needs me to take her shit in my mouth. I am at her service as long as she lets me vomit between her spread legs afterward. You understand, inquisitor. You have heard two stories from me today. You will hear a third in time. You will understand the true meaning of deceit from the story I am to tell you.

I met this man on my first job, his sword movements were seductive and arousing. But they were nothing compared to his physique. He had feminine hair, silky and flowing. You could smell the msuku root in them. His eyes were aquis, seductive and heartwarming. They could melt a murderer with love. His nose was an insignificant point on his face. His jaws were chiseled by the god of her beauty herself. His lips were so erotic, I wanted them on my cock. Puckering and licking. It gets the best of us hard. His neck was long like a giraffe. His chest was carved out of muscles, I wanted to bite it. His dark brown nipples were spots of pure beauty on his massive stature. His abdomen rippled with a copious amount of muscle. His thighs were thunderous with veins popping and muscles soaring. His calves were a maiden’s dream, high layed and toned. His naked toes were sensous and erotic, I wanted them in me.

My first job was to serve a queen from the Southern kingdom who had heard much about my nose. Her husband was missing, she claimed. I was an insolent boy back then and naturally I believed her.

My first thought was to sniff the man’s bedsheet, I smelled a sickening stench of cum, shit and piss. However, when I sniffed his loincloth I smelled another smell. I instantly knew her husband was cheating.

“Lady your husband is sleeping with another man behind your back.”

She looked at me casually, masking her anger and sadness. “Then do what must be done Tracker. Kill the bastard.” She exclaimed.

“As you wish your majesty. You understand that I will take more gold, yes?”

“Is this what all of it is about you filthy animal, fucking gold!” she screamed with the look of death in her otherwise beautiful eyes. Her plump chest rose and fell with each huff of angry breaths.

A man’s cock is an animal in itself isn’t it, Inquisitor? The beast that rises and falls without our control. Surely you would know, I can smell the foreskin of the little boy you tore. I don’t judge, inquisitor, in fact I am a little hard now.

Back to the story. The queen cried her heart out while I stared at her voluptuous bosoms and her praiseworthy hips. “So be it. Take the coin and go to hell Tracker.” The queen said in an alarmingly calm voice.

“As you wish my lady. I’ll greet you in hell.” I said before walking out the castle knowing full well I would have died had I stayed a moment longer.

I tracked the smell to a brothel not a thousand paces from the palace. The stench of sex, shit, and opium was filling my nostrils. I moved inside to a sight that was both horrific and pleasing. Horrific then, pleasing, now. I saw a man biting off the other mans balls while the soon-to-be eunuch moaned in ecstasy.

I moved to the second floor where I laid my eyes upon an hairy back, as large as a giant and filled with hard muscle, humping into what at first looked like a skinned dog. It was a boy, no older than a few hundred moons. He was crying in pain and humility as his anus was being defiled by the hairy king.

“Your ass is heaven boy. Tell me is it wrong to indulge in heaven boy?” The king said in a gruff voice as he damn near scalped the boy’s hair.

I stuck my dagger into the nape of the king’s neck, missing the jugular by only a few fingers. He roared in fury, not a hint of pain, and turned back in an attempt to grab my head. I moved backwards slipping his hands.

I saw his enraged cock which looked like an inchworm. It was truly very small inquisitor. It smelled like spoilt milk, and the boy’s shit and blood. I threw another dagger at the king as he dodged it and grabbed my neck with his massive arms.

Just then I heard a swoosh behind him. That is the first time I laid my eyes upon the bastard, he looked elegant and oh so fuckable. He took three more swings cutting his cock, torso, and neck.

Naturally, the giant of a man died, he was laid to waste. The raped boy pissed over his dead body and cursed. “I hope all your further generations have children with maggots up their anus. I hope they are raped at birth and born mutated. I hope they grow up to be spat on by everyone and raped by both the dead and the living.”

He ended sobbing. He jumped out of the window and ended his cursed life. The killer’s eyes moistened with tears “The world is a shit house. And he was the water used to clean the royal anus. I pray he dies in peace. I beg the lord for my sins.”

“Pathetic” I exclaimed.

“Yet a man.”

“Man or woman, I would end my life before being raped”

“Well you and I think alike stranger”

It was then that I smelt him, his valor, his agony, his tremendous libido. My quivering tongue imagined the meat of his heart. I was out of control, I was a nomad. I had no purpose in life until that fateful moment. I felt ecstatic, I felt the ecstasy that purpose brings me. The feeling that you are vital to the system, it’s bullshit. Am I bothering you with my views, inquisitor. Forgive me I lost my filter along with the integrity of my anushole. I like talking.

Anyways, he aroused my senses and my cock. I went with him, everywhere. His name was Kwesi, he was a free man. A hunter, he killed with no fun in his eyes. His dryness while killing made my cock stiff. After every night of his job he would lay with the plumpest daughter of the town’s collector.

His passionate moans, the women’s joy filled shrieks. The jiggling of her plump breasts, the redness on their buttocks in the shape of a firm palm. The euphoric eyes, the throbbing cock penetrating the devastatingly wet cunt. It maddened me. He did it all next to me.

My hands were between my legs the entire time. I loved the feeling. He saw me, she saw me. They smiled. They fucked their brains out.

That sisterfucker ended my belief in humanity.

It was three years after the fateful day I met that bastard that this happened.

We were at the bar, drinking msuku beer by the cartons. We were adored by the maidens in the bar, two young, muscular men, who sniffed out if their men were cheating on them. The beer was always unpaid for. As was the cock sucking.

That was the first time I saw Kwesi drunk. His eyes bulging out and red. His mouth flickering. His finger twitching. He looked like a dusted fucker. It amuses me how attracted I was to this vulnerable state of his pathetic body. His psychedelic state of mind gave me comfort. I loved him. Now, I fucking hate the thought of his cock sucking, horrific, terrible and vile name.

He was drunk to his last fucking root. He was acting sensitive, like a lady-boy. You know the kind, inquisitor. The kind that gets offended when someone pinches the tip of their manhood, or starts to cry when someone squeezes their succulent womanhood. I hate those filthy assfuckers. God couldn’t decide what they would look beautiful as. So that asshole made them ugly. They are freaks of nature. It hurts when you fuck them, their aroused cocks slappng your balls. Maddening fun. You should try it.

That day he held his crotch and declared. “This cuntlicker has been many a place but the heart. I want someone to love me, not for the devil between my legs. But the pompous organ in my chest. I want to hug a woman. Nothing more. Just feel her warmth. I dont want to fuck.”

He gulped and burped. Fucking smelled like the shit out of a fat man’s creamy asshole. It drove me crazy. He looked into my eyes. I felt the glaze of his shit stained vision peering through my dark, sinful and lusty soul. Scouting the boundary of my mistaken existence. Pecking at my guilty, vile and abominable conscience.

I saw a tear, only one fucking tear. It plopped down his chiseled jaw and landed on his defined trapezius. I held in my mighty laughter.

“You are drunk out of your fucking balls my friend” I said grinning.

He returned a pitiful smile. He looked a little girl smiling at her father after the father had ravaged her puny orifices. I can smell that you are familiar with the look inquisitor.

“I am going to my mother’s for a few moons. I want to see my sister get married.” He said in a moment of sobriety.

“Fuck the gods if I care” I exclaimed.

“You love fucking don’t you, Tracker.”

He kissed me on my lip. One whole minute passed. He removed his mouth.

“How many cocks have you sucked Tracker, your mouth tastes of a white man’s piss” He said, guffawing with laughter that was as fake as a king’s promise.

We laughed and talked about sweet cunts for a couple more hours.

I woke up the next morning to the smell of hyena piss. I reeked of it. My vision was blurry. There was liquid dripping from my head to my nose. It was the piss.

“Look the man-monkey has woken up.” A young energetic voice exclaimed.

“Finally he’ll see the fun we have with him.” The source of this voice sounded female, but reeked of man cum.

I coughed. Some of their vile piss fell in my mouth. It tasted like milk from a poisoned chipmunk’s breast. I hated it, I puked at the moment.

“Calm down sniffer.” The energetic one said with an undertone of laughter.

“Fuck the gods, release me at once you filthy creatures. You scum. Go get your pleasure elsewhere, for this pleases me more than it pleases you.”

I lied. It hurt. My body stung from bruises, the several cuts I had taken over the course of my petty life. The blood in my veins burnt like acid, my head hurt, my stomach leaped. My heart skipped beats. My eyes burnt, my cock ached like it had been stomped by a horse. My anus bled for no definite reason. My throat hurt like I was coughing up marbles. Worst of all was that I was hopeless.

Do you know inquisitor? A man can live without food for months, without water for hours, without air for minutes, but without hope man is crushed by the titanic burden on his shoulder. Without hope, inquisitor, a man cannot survive a moment. My hope was as dead as a young girl in the hands of an aroused king. Every moment with those fuckhounds, I was hopeless. But alive. That was the first sign that I was far from human.


End file.
